My Favorite Mistake
by Amberlia
Summary: Thrown into the world of espionage once more, Alex Rider has a new partner and unexpected ally in this world of shadows, mystery, murder, and betrayal. When your friends aren't really your friends and your enemies aren't really your enemies. Deeper summary inside. Original character. Rated T.
1. Scenic Prison Cells

**Summary: SCORPIA has been thwarted by Alex Rider once again but this time, the fallout is much more lethal. A rogue assassin with unknown ties to SCORPIA has been captured by MI6. Fifteen years old and already a killer, Jamuti has been trained her whole life to be the lethal weapon SCORPIA wanted her to be. With MI6 wanting her and Alex to investigate a school accused of selling drugs to students that cause madness and hallucination, and the remains of SCORPIA breathing down their necks, it's a desperate game of survival, betrayal and knowing who to trust. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series. This right belongs to Anthony Horowitz. However, the story line which I have developed should not be plagiarized or duplicated without my permission. The characters all belong to Anthony Horowitz. However, what they do in this story is in my control and I do not appreciate plagiarism. Also, Jamuti belongs to me. She is my original character. I do not support all the ideas in this story. There may be dark parts later on in the story with sensitive, triggering subjects and I will give warnings in the chapter before and at the beginning of that chapter. If the story disturbs or triggers you in anyway, I suggest you stop reading farther. As of now, this story is rated T for triggering subjects later on and language. Anything that happens in this story is purely fictional and should not be attempted in real life. I am not responsible for injury or anything that happens should someone try anything from my story.**

**A/N: Okay, so I've been wanting to do this story for a long time and now I've finally gotten my life together to do so. So yay for me! Yeah, basically the story is about Alex and Jamuti. I know some people think this is a Mary Sue story but it's not and you'll have to read to find out more. See the author's note at the bottom as well. **

**Remember to review and tell me what you think!**

**SCORPIA never forgives, SCORPIA never forgets**

Holding cells weren't typically pleasant places to be in but they had become familiar to Jamuti over the past few weeks.

The same grey walls. The same white cot. The same window, so high up on the wall that it had no other purpose but to provide ventilation. Even then, she could see, if she tilted her head back far enough, that it was barred. No way for her to get out from there. Even if she got up there, it would have been too small for her to slip through. There was a chemical toilet in the corner, separated by curtains. The distance from the toilet to her bed was approximately eight of her own footsteps. The distance to the door was eighteen. The whole cell measured twenty four by twenty. Not that big but she supposed she had been lucky; she had seen cells that were even smaller and more cramped. At least they weren't cockroaches. She couldn't stand them.

She heard a clang somewhere down the hallway and turned her head towards the sound. They brought food to her three times a day so she wasn't starving but the food wasn't exactly the highest quality food. There was bread, a small packet of butter and some kind of meat and gravy with crackers. For variety, sometimes, there would be sandwitches but those tasted like chalk and cardboard combined. Common to prison stereotypes, there was also Jell-O. It was the only good part about each meal.

With food came the questions. Who are you working for? Silence. A bite of Jello. Who sent you? A sip of water. How long have you been working for _them? _A rip as the pack of crackers opened and she pulled one out and put it in her mouth. And then repeating-Who are you working for?

They had even used more painful and convincing methods on her. The electric burns on her skin and her slightly blue tinged skin confirmed this. They kept her alive but she knew that there was at least a few bones in her hand broken from when she had tried to resist and ended up getting her hand snapped by one of the guards. This hasn't deterred her; it had made her more furious and more determined to get out of here.

Jamuti heard footsteps. The flap on the door to her cell opened up and sure enough, a tray of food was passed through. She walked over, picking it up. Today was some mystery meat and a few saltine crackers. The customary glop of Jello jiggled in the corner, right next to the pats of butter and small loaf of bread. There was the addition of an apple, a rare treat, although she noticed it was slightly bruised on the sides. She tossed the crackers aside, knowing they'd only make her thirsty. The small bottle of water they had provided needed to be rationed and saved.

She set the tray down on the ground and poked at the meat. She had never been the biggest fan of meat. Chicken, maybe. Pork, occasionally. Fish was revolting. She was convinced the meat here was made of some combination of all three, although she couldn't exactly ask.

The door opened and Jamuti looked up. A tall dark woman walked in, and with her came two guards. She recognized the guards and had even managed to pick up their names-Martinez and Alexis. Martinez was the nicer of the two but Alexis was much more brutal. The woman was new and intriguing. Intelligent dark eyes met her own as the woman extended a hand.

"Aasha Kathmar," she said, "pleasure to meet you, Jamuti."

Jamuti took the hand cautiously. Aasha gave a firm shake, making Jamuti grit her teeth and wince in pain as some of the bones in her hand cracked. She let go, eyeing the woman warily.

"We'd appreciate it if you could cooperate and provide us the information we need."

"Oh? And what's that?" Jamuti kept true to her teenage nature by allowing her blatant disregard for authority to shine through. This woman was clearly important. The well manicured nails and shiny red nail polish suggested this. She was, also, clearly not someone from the prison. Everyone here wore dark grey clothing. Guards wore black vests and grey shirts with gun holsters and sedation pills for some of the wilder prisoners. The woman was dressed in a red skirt and red top with a black pull over. Her hair was shiny and coiffed, falling down to rest somewhere at the midpoint of her back.

The woman smiled, showing white teeth. "Who are your employers? Where are you from? Why were you in Zachary Reyes house and why were you the one who had shot him?"

Jamuti told the well rehearsed story that had been practically drilled into her head by this point. "I told you, Zachary cheated me out of some of my drugs. I don't belong to any gang or anything like that. I shot him because he was asking me to whore myself out to him," at this, she made a practiced disgusted face, "and he was getting a little too persistent. Threatened to out me. I knew I had to do something or he'd tell everyone."

"That's a very good story, but it's not the truth."

"It is!" She insisted.

Aasha smiled. "I know your not from Columbia, Jamuti. Your story is very convincing; I almost bought it, too. You may speak Spanish fluently and you disguise yourself well, but the truth is, we've been keeping tabs on your employers and that means we've been keeping tabs on you as well."

Jamuti shook her head, turning away. "I don't work for anyone. I don't have any employers,"

Aasha smiled once more but it didn't reach her eyes. "Tell me, Jamuti, where did you learn to speak English?"

She shrugged in response. "My father was American, and my mother was Columbian. He died when I was ten. I continued learning in school."

"That's interesting." Aasha pulled something out of her pocket. A syringe. Jamuti's eyes widened as Aasha tested it, squirting a little liquid out of the top. It landed near her knees. "We did some tests, Jamuti, from some of your blood. According to our results, you're not American and you're certainly not Columbian either; you're of Russian and Indian descent."

Backed into a corner. She swallowed, trying not to show how outed she was. "Really? Your tests are wrong. I'm not Russian. I'm not Indian."

"Our tests are never wrong, Jamuti,"

She looked away, towards the food. The Jello looked particularly appetizing today. She picked up the spoon and dug into it, taking a large bite. The overwhelmingly sweet substance slid down her throat fluidly.

"Jamuti is an interesting name," Aasha commented. Jamuti took another large bite of the Jello then crammed some of the meat into her mouth. "But not very Columbian, is it?"

"My mom's into unique names," she mumbled around a mouthful of the meat. It tasted disgusting. "My brother's named Isaiah."

It had been a mistake, a simple mistake. She had been drugged, half delirious and filled with pain. When the first responders had asked her name she didn't hesitate in giving it. Little did she know that the first responders had turned out to be agents. When she had woken up in the cell with her hands cuffed to the cot, she had known that she had been busted. But it didn't hurt to try to deny it anyways.

Aasha tilted her head but didn't pursue further. Jamuti took a large gulp of the water then ripped open the packet of bread and tore of a large chunk.

"Careful, you'll choke," Aasha said, looking mildly amused.

"I'll live." Jamuti chewed then took another large gulp of water. "The food is delicious."

"You like it?"

"Yes. Please send my compliments to the chef,"

"You're very funny, Jamuti. Too funny for someone who has just committed first degree murder."

Jamuti closed the water bottle. "It was for the drugs," she said.

"I'm not so sure about that."

"I don't care what you think," she replied honestly and she didn't; when she had accepted the job, no one had asked her what she had thought about the whole thing. She knew that it would fail. She had a feeling it would fail but it was her word against eight others and so she had to obey. Aasha glanced at the watch on her wrist (big and expensive, it didn't seem like her style).

"It was nice talking to you-"

"Can't say the same about you," muttered Jamuti sarcastically. Aasha ignored her, continuing on-

"...but I have to go now. Hopefully, you'll change your mind and we can put this whole nasty business behind us."

Highly unlikely. Alexis held the door open for the woman as she left the room. Martinez picked up the tray and followed Alexis out of the room. Jamuti shook her head.

What a weird woman. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jamuti would be seeing more of her in the near future.

If anyone had told Alex Rider that he would end up in the hospital after being thrown from a twenty story burning building, suffering from multiple broken bones and severe burns on his arms and his legs, he wouldn't have believed it. No seventeen year old would have ever believed it. These kinds of things did not happen to normal, everyday seventeen year olds. A level exams happen to seventeen year olds. Driving licenses happen to seventeen year olds. Girl troubles and sort-of-maybe girlfriends happen to seventeen year olds. But ending up in the hospital because MI6 had screwed up yet again?

Alex sighed, annoyed for the fifteenth time as Jack fussed over him. Today had been the day he had finally been able to come home after spending nearly six weeks in the hospital. He suppose he should be happy to have finally come home. The familiar bedroom, now slightly too small for him with the posters of various music groups. His uncle's office, as vague and mysterious as it had been to him when he was eight or twelve years old. The kitchen which had been the source of countless 'science' experiments gone wrong. But with Jack fluffing his pillows every five minutes and constantly asking him if he was hungry or he wanted something to drink was just about enough to drive him up the wall. Alex had a lot of patience (when you were sometimes required to go on four hour long stake outs, lying in the bushes, barely breathing as enemy agents passed right over you, you acquired such skills) but even his patience had run thin. No wonder Ian had sometimes called Jack a nightmare.

"Jack," he said, "I'm fine."

Jack paused from where she was bringing him another blanket. Alex's head throbbed even more as he saw the pastel pink color the blanket was in. If Tom happen to come by, he would be the laughingstock in his school forever. Alex had no doubt that the annoying git would take pictures (lot's of them) and message them to pretty much everyone with a cellphone.

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking concerned. "You're looking a bit flush, maybe I should bring you some more…"

"No, really, Jack, I'm fine," Alex said hastily before she could get it in her head to grab more blankets in similar, mortifying colors. "I think you should rest now, it's been a _long _day. I'll be fine on my own for a few minutes."

Jack didn't look convinced. He really needed to sell the story or Jack was going to end up driving him to the hospital if he so much as _sneezed. _While he was touched at her concern, he wasn't dying. Besides being a little pale, with a slight temperature, he felt and looked fine. From the way Jack was acting, however, someone might have thought that Alex was on his deathbed, reciting his final will. He patted the spot on the sofa next to him. "Why don't you sit?"

"Are you sure? I could make you some hot cocoa, or maybe some warm milk-"

"Jack," Alex interrupted, "sit. Please."

Hesitating, she finally sat down next to him. She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Your hair's getting kind of long, Alex. Want me to cut it?"

"Sure, Jack," he replied, if only because he was glad she was no longer fussing over him. He tugged at one of her red curls, teasing. "Cut your own hair?"

"Oh, never!" She declared firmly. "I'm growing it out like Lilly Collins. Don't I look like Lilly Collins?"

"The Lilly Collins look?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "She has brown hair, not red."

Jack frowned but Alex was right. "Well," defended Jack, "in that movie of hers, I forgot the name, Shadowhunters or something, I think, she dyed her hair red."

Alex grinned. "If you say so, Jack. Want to watch something on TV?" He leaned forward to grab the remote but Jack yanked him back.

"Alex! Don't move around! You'll open up your stitches."

He rubbed his forehead, wanting desperately to bang it against something but then she would probably complain about him damaging his brain or whatnot. He really didn't want to take another trip to the hospital. Sighing a little, he watched as she picked up the remote, switching the television on. Jack flipped through channels, trying to find something age appropriate for Alex although Alex had already seen plenty of R rated movies (courtesy of Tom and James). Glancing at his phone, he was surprised to see two new messages on the screen.

The first was from Tom, telling him to get better. He opened it, typing a reply. It seemed that MI6 had provided the classic 'weakened immune' system excuse. It was getting kind of old and the story was starting to fall through; most people knew that no one could have _such _a fragile immune system and no one came back to school looking like they had been through hell for something as simple as the flu.

Alex: thanks. I'll be back by monday, hopefully.

Two minutes later, the reply came back-

Tom: :) nice.

The second message was from an unknown number. Alex opened this message with dread. He had a feeling he knew who it was from and when he opened the message, his suspicouns were confirmed-

_Unknown Number: _Mr. Rider, there has been a problem with your bank account. Please come by this Monday at six to fix the problem.

"Why are you making that face?" It was Jack. She had found some wholesome nature documentary for them to watch.

Alex handed the phone to her, waiting for her reaction.

Sure enough, she flipped out, pulling the phone from his hands and dialing the number.

Alex sighed. It seemed that MI6 had found him once again. He wondered what they needed this time. Hopefully, it wouldn't involve him ending up in the hospital again, although, knowing his luck, he probably would.

He sank lower onto the couch as the first of Jack's loud protests could be heard coming from the kitchen.

So much for school.

**A/N: Hey guys! So I known I haven't written in the Alex Rider fandom for a long time. I had some family issues I needed to take care of and I decided I'd start fresh with a new story. **

**Since I'm juggling this and my other Mortal Instruments fanfiction, I'll try to post every three days. If I can't, feel free to bother me :) Reviews make my day and motivate me so please leave one and tell me what you think! **

**Happy Writing! **

**-Amber **

**P.S: I forgot to add-Happy Valentine's Day! Alex's birthday was yesterday so happy birthday Alex! Hope you guys are eating a lot of chocolate and spending time with your loved ones. Even if your a single pringle like me, please spend time with your book friends/boyfriends/girlfriends/it's-really-complicated ;) **


	2. Cold

Gunshots. Screaming.

The world was ringing. Jamuti turned, trying to locate a familiar place, anywhere that might offer her protection or the chance to reload her gun. Damn it. Where was back up when you needed it?

Of course, he had taught her to never rely on back up. Weakness was deadly. She should be able to hold them off long enough. Her ribs felt like they were tearing apart. Broken ribs? A stitch from running? Who knew?

The radio in her hand crackled. Relieved, she pressed answer.

"Where are you?"

"I don't know," she said. The loud crack of gunshots had moved further away or maybe that was her imagination. "I ran-"

"Gun?"

"No bullets,"

Then the world blew into pieces.

Jamuti woke up with a gasp, nearly falling out of her cot. A cold sweat had formed on the back of her neck, and her heart was racing in her chest. Thump, thump, thump. Eyes on her neck, making her skin crawl. Someone was in the cell.

"Do you always watch people like when they're sleeping? Or is this just a one time thing?"

Aasha smiled, not looking very amused. Her face was frigid.

"MI6 has granted you an offer."

"I said no-"

"You're being sent to an orphanage, Jamuti,"

This made her pause. "An orphanage?"

"It's a nice orphanage. In Wales. Of course, it's for the mentally diseased. You, for example. A killer. I believe your roommate is a boy who tried to blow up his parents and younger sister."

"I'm not sick," Jamuti said, a little too loudly. Was she sick? She couldn't tell anymore. She knew kids her age didn't kill other people but did that really make her sick? Obedient, definitely. Mindless, maybe. "You're wrong-"

"I see you don't want to go to this orphanage."

"Of course not," said Jamuti. Her heartbeat was back to normal and sleep was wearing off, replaced by dull annoyance and resignation.

"MI6 would like to make you an offer. One we believe you will not refuse."

Clever. Psychological manipulation. She had forgotten the name of it now, but it involved a present. The offer was the equivalent of the present, she thought with little humor.

"We'd like you to work for us."

Jamuti thought she'd heard that wrong. "Work for you?" She asked, staring at Aasha in disbelief. "Why would I work for you?"

"The choice is yours, Jamuti," Aasha said with what could only be practiced nonchalance. The choice was not hers, Jamuti knew. If it were, she would never be here. She would never have agreed on this stupid mission. And she would have never allowed him to go on that mission.

"Elaborate," she said with resignation. Aasha's face took on a smug look. She wanted to punch her but Martinez and Alexis were outside the door. Had they changed the shifts yet? She wasn't sure. Either way, it seemed her only option was to hear out the offer.

"You're a trained killer, correct?"

"It was a one time thing and it won't happen again."

Aasha looked annoyed at the interruption, Jamuti thought with some satisfaction.

"Whatever. You have some...skills, skills we may think that will be useful to us. You have proved adept at operating a gun, are competent at hand to hand combat and very good with a knife."

Here comes the lying. "It was an accident. I don't really know how to fire a gun-" She paused at the look on Aasha's face. "What? You don't believe me?" She demanded.

Aasha smiled, a delicate smile. It looked like a cockroach had decided to land on her face, squashed and red and ugly, and stretch itself out, wings fluttering a little as she opened her mouth to speak again.

"Yet another valuable skill you have," she said, "the ability to lie. Who taught you?"

"No one taught me and I'm not lying."

"Interesting. We'll have to get a psychologist to check you out."

She hated psychologists. Did Aasha know this? Probably; if the smug expression on the her face was anything to go by. Jamuti leaned her head back, watching the woman in front of her through lidded eyes. The look was a front to give her time to think. Aasha was trying to push her to the limits, to irritate her. Annoy her. Make her cave. Two can play this game, Aasha. Jamuti pointed at her hand.

"You're married?"

Aasha seemed startled by the question, and also slightly irritated. Good.

"That's not relevant-"  
"It's a nice ring. How expensive was it?"

She was getting flustered. Jamuti had the upper hand.

"Let me guess-your husband's a banker?"

"I don't have-"

"Oh," Jamuti clapped her hands together as if having a sudden realization. "You're engaged! Of course, silly me, that's an engagement ring. I bet the wedding ring will be even better."

"Jamuti," Aasha's voice was sharp and full of warning. "Watch it."

Jamuti closed her mouth. She didn't need to say anything more. She had gotten underneath Aasha's skin and it showed; the woman was frowning and twisting the ring on her finger, as if she wanted to get it off.

"That's all for today," Aasha finally said, the ring still on her hand. Disappointing; Jamuti was hoping she'd take it off at least once. Or even better, she could somehow nick it. That'd irritate Aasha. "Watch your mouth, Jamuti. MI6 can be a powerful enemy and you certainly can't afford to get on our wrong side."

Jamuti yawned. "Okay," she replied, which seemed to ruffle Aasha up even more. However, the woman didn't say anything, just watched Jamuti with those dark eyes of hers and Jamuti stared back. Was this a staring contest? Eventually, Aasha looked away.

"Next time, we're bringing a psychologist,"

The promise sounded oddly like a threat.

"You do that." Jamuti said. "There's nothing wrong with me."

Aasha left, and the next meal didn't come. Or the next. Or the next after that. Martinez and Alexis checked in on her occasionally, probably to make sure she didn't do anything crazy like try to escape or slit her wrists.

~:~

"I can't believe, after all this,"

"Jack," Alex said, sounding resigned. Jack fumed in front of him. They were outside for the first time in days, enjoying a walk in the park and some ice cream. Their server, a boy slightly older than Alex, looked confused and a little scared of Jack, who had proved to be very imposing even as she thrust money and snatched change back. Alex, in a cast, and walking with crutches, had shot him an apologetic look. It wasn't his fault Jack was in a foul mood. MI6 was to blame. In three days, he would be heading to the Royal and General. Alex had the feeling it wasn't for a little chit chat or tea. Mrs. Jones, the new head, only called him in to talk to him about missions or sit him down with a psychologist, most of which diagnosed Alex with various mental disorders and prescribed him medication which he would promptly flush down the toilet.

"Jack," Alex tried again, "it's fine."

Jack brushed it away. "I'm going to have a word with Mrs. Jones," she muttered as they ate their cones, hers mint chip and his chocolate fudge. The day was nice and breezy, with a steady wind picking sending Jack's hair flying in all directions and Alex's shirt rippling in the wind. They had to walk slowly; Alex's crutches only got him far enough, and although he could walk fine without them, Jack had insisted (well, badgered, really) the hospital staff to give him a pair. The sky was clear and blue, and it was a perfect day for football but Tom as at his father's house on the Coast and James had gone to his grandmother's for the day. Plus, Jack wouldn't dare let him play.

"Maybe it's just for a briefing," Alex suggested, and Jack rolled her eyes. They both knew it wasn't for a briefing. Still, one could be hopeful.

"And Jason Turner wants to date me."

Alex blinked. "Who's Jason Turner?"

Jack's blush told him enough. Alex stopped walking.

"Alex!" Jack said, looking alarmed as if he were to suddenly start having a seizure.

"Relax, Jack," he crossed his arms, balancing on his good foot, "when were you going to tell me you had a boyfriend?"

Suddenly, she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Jack!"

"He's a nice guy I met at the market the other day," she said, blushing, then smacked him on the arm as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Stop it! It's nothing too serious."

"Is he handsome?"

"Of course," she replied, looking affronated at him suggesting otherwise, "nice eyes. Solid nose. Really nice hair…"

Alex stifled a laugh. Jack, at nearly thirty three years old, hadn't had much chance at romance, thanks to him and Ian. Now that life had quieted down a bit (at least Alex wasn't having assassination attempts made at his life every day), life was more freeing. Jack and Alex visited America to see Jack's family every Christmas and the first three weeks of summer.

"When do I get to meet him?"

Jack's expression sobered up as she finished her cone in one giant bite. "Stay along alive enough and I'll invite him over to dinner."

"Oh, come on,"

They walked alongside the duck pond. A small family of ducklings and their mother floated on the water, obediently trailing along. The wind was picking up and the sky was slowly darkening. Jack looked up, sighing.

"It's going to rain,"

Alex nodded, pausing to readjust his crutches. A few drops of rain fell on his shirt, small enough to be noticeable but not large enough for it to be too bothering. For once, life was slow. Perfect. The way he needed it to be without MI6 meddling in it.

~:~

"Gregorovich?"

"The daughter of Gregorovich, ma'am," Aasha corrected, politely. As usual, she was dressed in the 'color theme of the week'. This week appeared to be red, with the red dress shirt, black leggings, ruby red dangling earrings and nail polish to top it all off. In contrast, Mrs. Jones was dressed in her usual attire of grey, black, and for some originality, a simple silver chain around her neck. "The DNA matches."

Mrs. Jones stared at the photo of the girl in front of her. Jamuti didn't look like a girl. She looked like a cold statue, something a sculptor carved from stone. Except she was a teenager, and the signs of childhood hadn't yet disappeared. If she had been older, the stony face would have been scary but instead, it made Jamuti look sad, almost. Defiant.

"She's psychopathic," Aasha explained.

"Psychologist?"

"Not yet," she admitted, "but my general impression tells me she shows classic childhood signs of psychopathy. No sign of remorse. No response to...punishment."

Punishment meant torture. Mrs. Jones picked up the file, flipping it open.

"Three broken bones in her hand and you're telling me she actually didn't have a response?"

Aasha shifted, looking a little uncomfortable. Did Aasha have children? Mrs. Jones decided it didn't matter. "She kept saying 'ow' but it was more automatic than anything else."

Mrs. Jones set the file down again. "Gregorovich's daughter," she mused, "of course. Like father, like daughter. Our only challenge now is getting Alexa to accept her."

Aasha coughed. A small cough, but Mrs. Jones attention was sharply refocused on her.

"Ma'am," she started, "she hasn't actually agreed to work for us."

"I thought you talked to her." Aasha was the co-head of MI6, after Alan Blunt had retired. She had agreed to talk to Jamuti but had so far made little progress.

"She refused to cooperate."

"You didn't stay?"

"I told you," Aasha said, raising her hands apologetically, "she's an extreme psychopath. There wasn't much I could do."

Mrs. Jones sighed, rubbing her head. Right now, she was running on about three hours of sleep and this development wasn't helping much either. "Alright. Fine. Maybe Alex could talk to her."

"Alex Rider?"

"Who else?" Mrs. Jones fumbled in her pocket for one of her signature mints, popping it into her mouth. "Kids tend to talk better to other kids."

Aasha sniffed. "Jamuti's not a kid. She's a contract killer."

Mrs. Jones didn't say anything and Aasha took this as her cue to leave. Mrs. Jones knew she was right-kids didn't kill people in cold blood. Kids didn't know how to operate firearms or stab someone until they lay dying in a pool of blood at a person's feet. Jamuti was a real piece of work and even though it was painful to admit, she was aware that Jamuti was a deadly weapon with powerful, dangerous connections. She'd be a lethal enemy to get on the bad side off.

~:~

A/N: I know I haven't posted in two months but with complete lack of motivation and writers block, as well as exams, writing a play script and making newspaper deadlines, I haven't been able to write fanfiction as much.

Right now, I have spring break so I should have more time to write. I'll try to post a chapter every day but studying might get in the way so feel free to remind (or bother, hehe) me if I don't update within a week.

Shout to DelennTriesTalkingLikeAHuman for the first review, favoriting and following my story. Thanks for the support, Delenn!

Please leave a review and tell me what you think of this story. I'd appreciate any sort of constructive criticism as well as general feedback telling me whether you liked the story or not. Reviews make my day and I love hearing from you guys. :)

Happy Writing!

-Amber


	3. Hi, My Father Killed Your Uncle

Jamuti was finally taken out of the cell.

The cuffs were removed, she was seen by a doctor and had the first decent shower in days. Her fingers were broken and a bone in her arm was too. It seemed she had no brain damage from the electrical shocks she had received.

Of course, Aasha made good on her promise and brought a psycologist. In all of her training with her father, he had never exactly told her what to do if this ever happen. Mainly because he never would have let this happen, she thought nastily, staring at the unsmiling man in front of her. She remained silent, studying the psycologist the same way he studied her. He had scribbled a few notes down, so she could see he had gotten something out of it. In the end of their ninety minute session, he had simply said, "Nice to see you," and left.

Jamuti didn't know what to think of it. Was it psycological intimidation? She stayed in the room until someone came to get her. Then, she was bundled into a car, handcuffed, of course, and blindfolded.

She had then been escorted out somewhere. Her feet felt carpeted floor. Some kind of building, then. She knew she was probably still in Britian. No idea where. Straining her ears for some kind of noise, she had been only met with a few coughs and the faint sound of a radio. The windows were designed to block out sound, clearly.

Finally, she had ended up in a large confrence room with Aasha as company. She had no idea where she was, which was the whole point. And the woman wasn't being helpful either; the wedding comments must have aged bad, she thought, a little amused.

Spitefully, they had ignored each other's presence. Then, Aasha had left again, telling her to be good.

Jamuti was in handcuffs so she wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that.

!*!

The Royal and General was as unflattering and drab as ever.

At least that was one constant in Alex's life. The drab walls. The drab, generic, catalog ordered furniture. He wasn't an expert on upholstery but he was sure that the furniture was so out of date that they had probably ordered it when Blunt had come into office. Well, now Blunt was out of office so they really should get it changed. Or maybe they didn't want to traumatize the poor, sheltered souls who worked alongside the ones that would twitch if someone even moved the wrong way. He imagined them discussing it, saying it might be traumatizing for people like him to experience such _drastic _change.

Maybe they would ease him into it. Show him a few pictures, then assimilate him into the environment. Or, they could, as they always did, just throw him in and hope he didn't drown.

He was seated on one of the uncomfy, flat sofas, trying to read a stock magazine. Would it kill them to get some Time? He had no idea why he was here, except for the clue that he might have a partner. A partner, of all things. Alex wanted to bash his head. Probably some military type who'd shove him down the toilet first chance he got. Or some spoiled kid, from the CIA who thought he had a chance to live in the world of espionage. Hell, even Alex didn't know how he had managed to survive so long.

Annoyed, he put down the magazine and stared at the clock. He was disappointed to see that only five minutes had passed. Even bitching to the receptionist had lost it's fun. He was just about to pull out his phone, maybe call Jack and ask her to come get him when a woman appeared.

The woman was tall, dark-skinned and dark-haired. She had her hair pinned back neatly in a bun that sat on her head. Her clothing was entirely red, including her lipstick, which was like an ugly red blood slash across her face. She was supposed to be beautiful but she looked terrifying. For a moment, Alex saw some of Mrs. Rothman's madness reflected in her.

"Mr. Rider," she said, "I'm Aasha Kathmar. Mrs. Jones sent me to get you. You have a problem with your account that we'd like to discuss. If you'd follow me,"

Alex got up, following her to the elevator. She pressed the button, and the elevator shot up. He didn't try to make conversation because he knew people like her would do it out of politeness and he wasn't here to be polite. He was here to know why the hell they wanted him again. The elevator opened and she stepped out.

Surprisingly, he wasn't led to Mrs. Jones's office. Instead, Aasha walked to a large door and opened it.

Inside was a room that looked like it was used for meetings. There was a large table with swiveling chairs around it. A coffee maker was in the corner, alongside a tea maker. He saw pink sachets of sugar poking out from a cup. There were no windows, unsurprisingly, and he heard the door click behind him, so he was locked in here for as long as they pleased.

A girl sat in one of the chairs at the table. His eyes went to the handcuffs around her wrist. Around one of her arms was a cast. She looked unimpressed and bored. Her hair was messed up like she hadn't combed it in days. Her eyes flickered to his before she sighed loudly and continued to stare at the wall.

"You must be Alex," she said. There was a faint accent to her words. "How did they rope you into this? Blackmail, I'm assuming?"

"Quiet, Jamuti," Aasha's stern voice came behind him. Alex took a seat at the table. "Mrs. Jones will be here shortly. Jamuti, I would watch your mouth."

"Or what? You'll wash it out with soap?"

While he admired the girl's boldness he could feel the atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees. He wanted to warn the girl, tell her that these people were absolutely nuts and if she kept acting flippant, she was going to end up in a far worse state.

"Yeah, I'm Alex," he said, a little awkwardly. "Your name is Jamuti?"

"Yes. The only reason I'm here is that otherwise, I'll be in an orphanage in Wales for the mentally ill."

Blackmail, definitely. He didn't need to see Aasha's reaction to know that she was telling Jamuti to cut it out.

"Can you take off these handcuffs?"

"No," snapped Aasha.

"I'm itchy."

"Hold it, then."

She sighed, loudly, then leaned forward. With surprising flexibility, she picked up a pencil with her teeth by the rubber and maneuvered it to her arm. She started to scratch it. "Much better. So...how are you today, Alex?"

"Good, thanks. Can't say the same about you." Alex noted the paleness of her skin. He saw the cuts on her face and the way she looked tired and wary, despite the fact that she was annoyed. "Orphanage for the mentally ill?"

"Oh yes. I hear it's quite the thing nowadays to send kids to orphanages when they don't behave. Isn't that it, Aasha?"

"You're mentally ill." Aasha looked disgusted.

"Are we sure I'm the mentally ill one?" She gazed back pointedly at her. We'll see what Mrs. Jones has to say about this, Alex thought, a little gleefully. I'm the insolent one? Clearly, she hasn't met Jamuti. "I mean, you're a grown woman but I think they're some nice institutions in the US that might take you, if we ask really, really nicely."

Alex didn't know how to react. Should he laugh? Warn her? He could run, away from this, away from these crazy people but they'd just drag him back here and handcuff him next to Jamuti.

"So you're a spy?" He asked.

Jamuti's lip curled. "Sort off," she said. "I know you're a spy for MI6, though the CIA used you too. And the Australian Secret Services. You're quite international."

He didn't ask her how she knew.

"And famous, too. My organization had a field day with you."

"That's enough, Jamuti," Aasha said sharply.

"You haven't told him?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Told me what?"

At that moment, the door opened and Mrs. Jones entered the room. Compared to Aasha, she was as drab as the rest of the place. Grey skirt, grey blouse, black heels. A single silver chain around her neck. Aasha immediately turned to face her.

"Aasha. Thank you for bringing him in. I assume he was no trouble."

Alex gave Mrs. Jones a look. He was the one being the trouble maker? Had no one told her what a devil this girl named Jamuti was? Aasha nodded.

"You may stay here for the briefing. I'm assuming that's Jamuti."

Also known as the Devil. Also known as the girl who may rival Alex Rider in terms of insolence. Also know as...Alex forced back a grin. This could be fun, after all. Maybe this whole partner thing wouldn't be as bad as he thought, with this high-quality entertainment in front of him.

"So you're Mrs. Jones. You looked taller in your pictures."

"Jamuti!"

"It's fine, Aasha." Cool eyes surveyed Jamuti. "Can we take off the handcuffs?"  
Aasha looked displeased but moved forward to take them off. With the cuffs taken off, he saw the bold, red indentions in the skin of her arm. There were thin white scars on her forearm, too.

"Tell me, Jamuti," Mrs. Jones said, taking a seat, "did your father normally tolerate this type of insolence?"

Jamuti stiffened.

"Knowing the type of man your father was-"

"You don't know him very well," her voice was more heated than before, "you just see him as someone on security camera footage. So don't say you 'know' him." She calmed down a little, then continued, "and to answer your question, no, he didn't tolerate insolence. But I'm always willing to make an exception for people like you."

"People like us?"

"You know. Spies."

For a moment, Alex was confused. Wasn't she a spy, too? He glanced at her, seeing her smirk. Mrs. Jones was frowning. He felt caught in the middle of it. Aasha was standing off to the side, arms crossed across her chest.

"And it was your father who trained you?"

"No, a magical squirrel from Narnia came and taught me witchcraft. Who else would teach me?"

"Jamuti, you need to think very carefully about what you will say next or I will put the handcuffs back on."

Jamuti didn't say anything, but her eyebrows furrowed. As for Alex, he was struggling to connect the dots. They weren't telling him something and he had a feeling that it was for a reason because when he'd find out, things would quickly hit the fan.

"How long have you been working for them?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I grew up around them, but I didn't do anything until I was ten."

"What did you do when you were ten?"

"Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Alex finally asked, annoyed.

"I really think you should tell him-"

"Quiet, Jamuti,"

"Tell me what?" Since he didn't think Mrs. Jones or Aasha would provide any answers, he turned to the girl in question. "What?"

"This is not a good idea, Jamuti," Mrs. Jones sounded slightly worried, "I think we shouldn't be telling him."

Jamuti ignored her.

"This is going to sound really bad but," she hesitated, "you know Yassen Gregorovich?"

"I think that's enough-" Aasha began, but Alex waved her off. The mention of the Russian assassin had been enough to pique his interest.

"What about him?"

"We're related. As if in, he's my dad."

Alex froze. He blinked and then it was like being hit by a giant wave. A wave of understanding. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. She even looked kind of like him! The same sharp face and long eyelashes. Even the way she was looking at him was similar to the man's.

Alex was losing it. He was really, really losing it. He hadn't noticed these things so that meant he was getting worse, his reflexes were toned down, and he would die because of these things.

"Alex, you're hyperventilating." A calm voice next to him said.

"Thanks for telling me."

It was like having the man next to him. Or the second best thing, at least.

"I can't do this," he gasped.

"That's understandable," the girl replied, looking sympathetic. No. She wasn't sympathetic. She was cold and ruthless. He couldn't be near her. Or even within proximity of her. He needed to be five miles away.

"Put the handcuffs back on!"

"Hey, that's not fair-" she started to say but Aasha took the inviation to eagerly snap them back on. Jamuti scowled, flexing her arms.

"This is why we tried not to tell you, Alex," Mrs. Jones said.

"So you were okay with me going on a mission with _her? _Without telling me this?"

"We would have told you."

"When? Before or after she finished stabbing me to death?"

"Stabbing is too messy. Personally, I would have-"

He whirled around to face her, which stopped her. "You're a killer."

"Yes." She looked at him, wide-eyed. Unhelpfully, his mind supplied that her eyes were light brown and would have been pretty if Alex didn't know that they were probably accustomed to staring through a scope. "Your point is-?"

"Could you kill me?" He wanted to know. "Answer me honestly."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Now there was annoyance in her voice.

"Answer the question!" Alex was going to go insane before he reached forty. He was going to be a lunatic, a mess if he continued to go with MI6. He never should have agreed to come here. He never should have agreed to work for them. They were no many 'nevers'. "Could you?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because someone told me to."

"You mindlessly follow orders."

"I follow money." She corrected. Like father, like daughter, he thought bitterly.

Alex looked at Aasha and Mrs. Jones and at Jamuti, who smiled at him.

"I think, I think, I need some time to think about this," he stumbled over the words. "May I please leave?"

Mrs. Jones hesitated, then nodded.

Alex couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

!*!

**A/N: Yep, so they met. **

**I haven't updated in a long time because I was dealing with a bunch of other things. Mostly academic things and I didn't get much of a chance to write anything besides essays and articles for the newspaper. I've been getting back to writing and hopefully, I can keep updating my stories more often. :) **

**Anyway, remember you can always bother me (with a review). Tell me what you think. Comments, suggestions, observations etc are welcome!**

**Happy Writing!**

**-Amber **


	4. The Gregorovich Bitch

"I hope you're happy with yourself," Aasha said, viciously. "That was one of our best agents."

"Correction," Jamuti said, "you coerced him into highly questionable acts, and now that the consequences of these acts are catching up, he can't handle it. And he's not an agent; he's illegal and he's a minor."

Mrs. Jones had left the room, meaning their previous hostile encounters had room to stew. She was already filing away information for later. For one, Alex Rider was sixteen, still a minor who technically shouldn't be involved in any of this. The government would have fun with this one. She nearly grinned, before remembering her predicament. She was an enemy soldier on foreign soil. She doubted the British government would be in much of a mood to listen to her. Secondly, he and Yassen had a pretty tense relationship, though most people did. Anyone who knew her through her father had a tense relationship with him. Though she wasn't sure exactly where they'd met, it must be written down somewhere.

Or she could always ask Alex himself. Though he, like his government, might not be in the exact goodwill to tell her. Without coercion, at least.

But first, she needed to get out, for one thing, so this whole 'Alex Rider' business needed to be pushed behind her. Then she could tip the government, or whoever it was, anonymously, but only from at least three countries away. A continent between them wouldn't hurt either. SCORPIA'S files might have something on Alex and Yassen, too, so it wouldn't hurt to check that out.

Alex's primary strength was age, which could also work to her advantage. She was a year younger and a girl, to top off. They'd underestimate her even more, right? She tested the handcuffs. Aasha's back was to her. Yes. It might just work.

"Ow!"

Aasha whirled around to face her. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jamuti's hands, twisted at an odd angle. It looked like she had dislocated her thumb.

"Ow! Get it off, get it off!"

"Hold still!" Aasha was fumbling with the key, moving to get it off. Jamuti kept screaming in pain, kicking her legs as the key was inserted into the cuffs and removed. Aasha stood behind her, the smell of perfume tickling her ears.

She'd always hated perfume.

"Should I get-"

Jamuti didn't give her the chance to get the words out before she had twisted around and rammed her wrist underneath the woman's jaw. She stumbled. Jamuti threw the handcuffs aside as she grabbed Aasha, slamming her onto the table. Her head gave a loud thunk as it slammed into the wooden surface, confirming Jamuti's theory that Aasha's head was definitely hollow and devoid of anything that resembled a brain.

Her eyes were bulging and wide. Jamuti started to choke her, hands tightened around her neck. Aasha was slim enough that her hands fit nearly around, giving her the perfect hold. The woman was grabbing at her arms, trying to get her off but Jamuti was trained by the best. She didn't feel much as she felt the woman's efforts falter, growing stiller underneath her hands as the minutes passed-

And the door to the room flew open.

"Gregorovich!"

She saw guns being drawn from the corners of her eyes. Did Aasha have some kind of emergency button her? Or were there cameras? She was betting on the latter; MI6 were surveillance freaks. They probably had cameras in the bathroom, too.

"Freeze!"

She stepped away from Aasha, raising her hands slowly. She heard coughing. The insufferable woman was still alive. So much for her escape attempts. A group of men, dressed in black, were pointing guns at her.

"Hello,"

"Step away from Mrs. Kathmar."

She hesitated.

"Now!"

"Alright, alright," Jamuti slowly moved aside, "no need to get your panties twisted up, ladies."

"Get on the ground with your hands behind your head!"

She crouched next to the table.

"Down!"

What was she, some kind of dog? Down, they wanted? Well, down was where she'd go. She quickly rolled underneath the table as the men opened fire. So they were using real bullets. Jamuti supposed it was flattering that they considered her to be such a threat they needed real bullets. She crawled along the edges of the table, staying low as the men filled the room. They didn't want to kill her so they fired low, but there was still the risk that they'd hit something major. Aasha was inching towards the door.

Oh no, you don't, she thought before launching herself at the woman. She grabbed her, forcing one hand to grab her in a chokehold. She pulled the woman against her as the men all turned, guns ready to fire.

"You want to shoot? Shoot through her,"

The men looked towards someone who must have been their leader, a middle-aged man that was probably purposefully average looking. His mouth tightened a little as he waved at the men to stand down.

"I am going to leave this room," Jamuti said, calmly, "and no one will make any move to stop me. I'll take her with me; if you agree, she'll return unharmed. If not, I'll have to snap her neck."

She hated snapping peoples' necks. It had been one of her father's specialties, and everyone knew it. But she hated it. Something about the crack of bone and the oddly twisted angle made her squeamish.

But they didn't need to know that.

"Understand?"

The men, once again, looked towards their leader. He hesitated, then, clearly not liking it, he waved her through. Jamuti kept Aasha pinned carefully against her body. They could take a headshot but they needed her alive.

She was almost out the door when the woman decided to react by biting her. A sharp pain stabbed through her hand. She let go.

Aasha moved out of the way and the men yanked her back. She had the sense to slam the door shut, just as bullets pierced through. No skin was broken, but damn, did that woman have a bite. Part shark, part snake. It made sense.

She had no time to waste. Quickly, she sprinted around the corner as the men filed out. She could hear orders being given out, instructions to split up and cover ground. She pulled open the door to a room, slipping inside. It looked like a generic office set up, with three chairs, two on one side and the last on the other. A window overlooked the street, clearly tinted.

She locked the door. She needed to barricade it, too, but should she waste the precious seconds on it?

Yes. The men had guns and she had absolutely nothing. She spotted a stapler on the table. Okay, so she had that but it wasn't enough. Against guns, staplers were nothing. She remembered something Yassen had said to her once. "Never bring a knife to a gunfight. Bring a bomb."

She needed some kind of bomb in this situation. The door opened outwards. She looked around the room before settling on the curtain rods. She opened the drawers and found some files and duct tape. Under normal circumstances, she would have stayed to read the files, but she needed to get out. Now.

She taped the curtain rod across the door. She had no rope so she just dragged the chairs, setting them up against the door. Then, she turned her attention to the room.

The files she could pilfer and take back to SCORPIA. Though she doubted they contained anything of much importance, it wouldn't hurt. She had a stapler, two chairs and not much else.

Jamuti would have to get out someway else.

The window. Of course. The men had split up, but most of them should have been inside the building. They'd assume she hadn't made it out yet. Maybe they were reviewing security footage.

She opened the windows.

It was raining. There was banging on the door. So they'd found her.

"Open up!"

Amused, because there was no chance she'd open the door for them, she glanced back out to the window. London traffic lined the streets. Perfect. They wouldn't be able to send anyone out by car to get her. There was a Union Jack pole just within leaping distance.

She prepared to make the jump.

The door flew open.

"Freeze!"

She jumped.

For a moment, she was suspended in the air before her hands found the slippery pole. She slid down before she had managed to wrap her legs around, slowing her descent. Thankfully, the office had been lower than the flag hanging there, so her hands hadn't snapped around the flag. No disrespect to the British government or whatnot might be a fair thing to say at her trial if she got caught.

No. She pushed the thought away. She wouldn't get caught.

She slid down the pole to street level. The men must have caught on by now. The rain was soaking her through. She was only wearing a thin shirt and loose-fitting pants, all of which MI6 had provided. Her long hair was frazzled and knotted. Gingerly, she touched her scalp. She'd been pressing against it when she'd been in the chair. She might have pulled a few strands out.

Unfortunately, she didn't know London very well. For some reason, Yassen hadn't been fond of the place. Jamuti snorted. Well, the English weren't very hospitable by nature, it seemed. No wonder why.

A few people were giving her strange looks. Time to get a move on.

She took off down the London streets.

~:~

"She escaped?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

Silence. "Interesting."

In front of Mrs. Jones, Gregory Johnson, head lowered, hands behind his back, waited for the verdict. Mrs. Jones knew everything about Gregory that was of importance-English, a patriot, determined with protecting the country from 'terrorists and barbarians'. He was forty years old and the head of the MI6 Special Security team. One of the best.

How a fifteen-year-old girl had escaped him was something of concern. Maybe they needed to upgrade security.

She didn't say that, though. Instead, she nodded. "Dismissed."

Aasha Kathmar had been sent to the hospital wing but was now standing in the corner of Mrs. Jones with a look of promised vengeance. Clearly, the hatred she had for the girl was able to bypass anything, even her swollen vocal cords and the bruises on her neck.

"Alex Rider's been sent home,"

Aasha's lip curled up. "With security?" Her voice was raspy. She was instructed to give it a rest but knowing Aasha, she wouldn't. "The br-Jamuti might still be a danger to him."

"He's taken the tube. Besides, Jamuti is smart," Mrs. Jones popped a peppermint into her mouth. "She'll try to avoid public means of transport. A team's been sent after her. She won't get far."

Aasha didn't look convinced. Mrs. Jones relished the taste of mint in her mouth, before crumpling the wrapper and tossing it in the trash.

"This might confirm the psychologists' report from earlier."

"Psychopathy?" There was a hopeful tone in her voice.

"No." Mrs. Jones didn't say that the psychologist hadn't gathered much. Just that the girl was cold and detached. She hadn't even said anything during the session. "She might have PTSD."

The security footage from the girl's cell had shown nightmares. Vague and threatening. It was the only time the girl looked vulnerable. Similar to Alex's own nightmares, too.

"SCORPIA?"

"They haven't been in contact," Mrs. Jones had expected as much. SCORPIA had been significantly weakened since Alex's encounters with them. Many of the board members were in prison, under questioning and custody. It would be some time before they laid claim on her if they did at all. She was captured and she might have been a valuable asset, but with the death of Gregorovich, was she even with them?

The interrogation had proved futile. They needed her alive, in good condition too, and couldn't go hard, much to the interrogators' disappointment. Still, the girl seemed to have a high pain tolerance.

She was perfect. Too perfect. SCORPIA'S, too. A reminder of what SCORPIA was, exactly how powerful they had been, and why it might be a bad idea to get on their wrong side. But they were weak. Weaker then they'd ever been before, even with John Rider. The Snakeheads were uncontrolled, gone after Winston Yu had died. Julia Rothman was dead, too. Dr. Three was in custody. Yassen Gregorovich had left the world, leaving behind a ruthless, uncontrolled teen daughter.

It was one big mess. And they were right in the middle of it.

~:~

"Alex? Alex, talk to me, you've been quiet the whole night."

"I'm fine, Jack," he mumbled, brushing away her concern.

After the whole incident with her, the fucking insufferable, honestly a bitch, Gregorovich girl, he'd gone home. Jack had been confused at his mood, sulky with pissy thrown in for good mix. He'd refused dinner, so she had brought him a sandwich. She'd tried to find out what exactly had happened but he wasn't in the mood to talk.

Of course, it had to do with MI6. It was always them. He felt a flare of anger as he swallowed the last of the sandwich, switching on the TV. They created this mess and dragged him into it.

A random news channel came up. Flooding somewhere. Alex watched with detached interest.

A sudden news report caught his eye.

"A fifteen-year-old girl reported missing today. Authorities are on the lookout for a teenage girl, about 1.6 meters tall. She has brown hair and brown eyes."

"Fucking hell!" He threw the remote across the room, thankfully not hitting anything. Jack glanced at him, startled.

"Alex!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, getting up to get the remote. The TV showed a picture of _her. _How obvious could they get? Her picture looked like a mug shot and even though she was smiling, it was blank. Like she had done it to amuse the photo takers. There was a clear bruise on her temple.

"...last seen in the Slough region."

He turned the TV off.

"Alex? Do you know her?" Jack asked, a little cautiously.

"She," he rubbed his forehead. "No. No. Just thought she looked like someone I knew."

"Well, maybe you could call and ask," clearly, she was trying to help. But how could he call someone who had long since left life? He couldn't exactly call the dead, could he?

"Yeah. Goodnight."

~:~

**A/N: So this chapter was exciting. Jamuti is not a fan of MI6, lol, but then again, who is? I've decided to do the chapters in two to three POVS of the third person. So Jamuti and Alex, and then one more, if needed. **

**To clarify some things: **

**-Jamuti is one year younger than Alex. She was born on January 7th, 1988. **

**-Alex is sixteen now. That makes Jamuti fifteen. **

**-Jamuti is Yassen's daughter. **

**-Alex is living with Jack. This is after Never Say Die and they move back to England. **

**-Blunt has retired and Mrs. Jones is now the head of MI6. Aasha is what Mrs. Jones used to be to Blunt; namely, a sort of assistant. **

**Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! Also, favorite and follow; I appreciate all the support and interest I get in any of my stories. Thanks to 627 Organized Chaos and DelennTriesTalkingLikeAHuman for their continued support! **

**Happy Writing!**

**-Amber **


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